The Star
by Solissima
Summary: In the aftermath of the Dark Lord's return, he sends his most trusted servants to find her: the Star. Born of magic but raised in the muggle world, she knows nothing of her heritage or her destiny. Her soul is torn between light and darkness.
1. Chapter 1

Introduction:

"So," his voice contained malice that he did not bother to hide, "your lovely daughters have decided to join us."

He gestured to the burly men on either side of him, and they dragged us forward. I struggled, flailing my arms and legs. After I landed a particularly nasty kick on my captor's shin, he pointed his wand at me and grunted, "Petrificus Totalus." My entire body stiffened--I was utterly paralyzed. I fought panic at my helplessness as I, a seething statue, watched the scene unfold.

"Cassandra dear," his voice was lightly mocking. "Will you tell me which one she is, or do I have to torture that out of you?"

"You will never have her, you bastard. I will not let her be your pawn."

"Unfortunately, you have little choice in the matter. If you will not tell me who she is, I will kill them both."

As he spoke, the men holding Selena and I pressed their wands to our throats. I wished desperately that I could move, struggle, scream, anything. It felt like I was wearing a full-body cast. Even breathing was difficult. I felt like I was drowning.

"You will not harm either of them." My mother's voice was harsh with pain. "You need her. You need her to win, and you do not know which one she is. Even she does not know."

"Then you won't mind if I do this…" He drew his wand and, pointing it directly at the struggling Selena, smoothly intoned, "Imperio."

Immediately, her eyes glazed over. He sauntered over to her, smirking. "Look at me," he commanded. Her head snapped up like a marionette, and her lifeless blue eyes met his merciless silver ones. Almost pleasantly, he continued, "What is your name?"

"Selena." Her voice was flat, almost robotic.

"And what is the name of your beautiful sister over there?"

"Estella."

He laughed mirthlessly. "Oh, you stupid, stupid woman. You thought you could hide from us, and yet you've led me straight to her. The Star and the moon. Estella Black. The Dark Star. How clever of you. It is unfortunate that you will not live to see the glory of the Dark Lord's triumph."

"No," she gasped, her eyes wide with panic. "Take Estella, but let Selena and I go. We will disappear. _She_ is not a threat to you…I didn't even need to bind her, she's practically a squib. Please, Lucius. I...I claim the right of kin. Release me, son of my sister."

He turned on her, eyes flashing icily. "How dare you. You are no kin of mine. I owe nothing to you. You are dead to our House."

I watched, still frozen, as tears slipped down my mother's cheeks. "She's only a child. They're both children. They know nothing of this."

"How convenient that they have not been corrupted by your lies. It will make them all the more…malleable."

She shuddered violently, tears now streaming unchecked down her cheeks, then, breaking free of her captor's hold, she scrambled forward to kneel at his feet, grasping at his robes. He kicked her away from him. "Filth." He spat. "Crucio!"

She writhed on the floor, screaming in pain. Selena, now free of the spell he had placed on her began to cry, and he slapped her across the face almost carelessly. Her sobs were reduced to hiccups of fright and shock. I was still imprisoned, but I burned with fury, struggling futilely to free myself. I had never felt so helpless, so scared, so alone, in my life. Then, as if suddenly remembering my presence, Lucius turned on me.

"Are you enjoying this, Estella?" He traced my face with a long, pale finger. "My dear little cousin." I wanted to shrink back from his touch, to shudder at the icy, sickly feeling of his fingertips against my skin. "The Dark Lord is simply dying to meet you, my cousin. You shall be treated like a queen, and I shall be honored beyond all others for delivering you to him." Stepping back, he turned on his heel to his companions, still eerily homogenous with their black cloaks and masks.

"I shall return to the Dark Lord to give him the news. I trust you imbeciles can handle them in my absence. You may do what you please with the woman and the child. Don't bother to bring the bodies back. Leave the Star as she is. A demonstration may make her more…cooperative."

"Yes, My Lord." One thug grunted.

"Very well then." With a faint pop, he was gone.

The memory of what happened next from my mind, the memory of what I, helpless, was forced to witness, will always remain, branded upon my mind. A thousand times I wished their pain upon myself.

I felt my horror intensify, but I could not look away. Silently, I screamed, with rage and despair. The sound echoed within my mind, increasing in pitch and intensity. Behind the din in my mind, I could hear my mother, chanting, her voice low and intense. Suddenly, my scream echoed in both my mind and my ears. I was free of my invisible bonds. My voice had taken on a life of its own, beyond my control. A fire was raging inside me was; I was consumed from the inside out.

Suddenly, I looked down upon the scene as if from afar. I saw the cloaked, masked figures. I saw my mother and my sister, brutalized and broken. I could see myself, screaming. Pressure building, growing, rising.

First an inferno, then darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1: Aftermath

Only the moon was witness to the explosion that had destroyed my world. The brightness of its light nearly blinded me when I first opened my eyes. I looked around me. Nothing. No one. They were gone. _I_ had killed them. All of them.

I closed my eyes. I was burning from the inside out. I had to escape. I had to run.

"I am gone." I whispered into the silence.

* * *

Her vision was still blurred, but her feet were sure as she walked slowly out of the ruins of her house. She could not look back; she would never look back. Taking a deep breath, a painful, gasping sob, she broke into a run. The night was empty. All she could hear was the pounding of her bare feet against the dry earth. She fled blindly into the darkness, her only hope that this was a dream. Any second now, she would wake up. She would wake up, safe, in her own bed, and look across the room to see her sister sleeping peacefully. None of this could be real.

Then, she tripped and fell flat on her face on the forest floor, knocking the air out of her lungs. As she lay there, gasping for breath, she inhaled the sharp, tangy scent of the pine needles that carpeted the forest floor. The pain in her chest was replaced by a deeper, far bitterer pain. So this wasn't a dream. She wanted to sink into oblivion on the forest floor. Patches of sunlight would decorate her motionless form. The rain would beat down in a steady tattoo on her back. The snow would envelop her in its stifling embrace. And she would remain there, until her heart had been worn away.

But something inside her overpowered the grief and numbness that threatened to paralyze her. Slowly, she got to her feet and continued through the night. Minutes – perhaps hours – later, she emerged into a meadow, where the light of the moon and stars shone down unhindered, plating the leaves on the trees and the blades of grass in quicksilver. She had come here many times before. It felt safe. For now, she could go no further.

* * *

As soon as he reached the devastated house, he knew what had happened. The entire area glowed with the light of a wild magic. With his usual thoroughness and efficiency, he performed a magical analysis of the location before destroying all evidence of the truth. Five had died here, four of them magical. The explosion, of sorts, could not have occurred more than three hours ago. He had come as quickly as he could, but was he too late?

Having mounted his broom, he followed the traces of magical residue left behind by the one survivor, sure to cover the trail she had unwittingly behind her. It wasn't long before he sensed her presence ahead of him. He landed, slipped on his invisibility cloak, and continued on foot.

At last, he stood on the edge of the clearing, studying the small figure sitting in the grass about twenty feet from him. To the unobservant eye, it would appear that she was frozen as she sat there, knees clutched to her chest, head resting on her knees, and a mop of hair forming a curtain around her, but he could tell she was trembling slightly – from a combination of fear and the desire to prevent herself from falling apart completely.

Suddenly, she looked up, directly at him. "Don't try my patience," she whispered, her voice devoid of all emotion. "If you've come to kill me, by all means, proceed. What are you waiting for?"

She fell silent again, her eyes fixed on the man stepping out from the shadow of the trees and pulling off the cloak that had concealed him from her sight, but not his presence from her mind.

Slowly, with cat-like grace, he walked across the clearing toward her. When he was close enough to touch her, she rose to her feet and turned to face him. For a moment, they studied each other.

Brown eyes met black. She tilted her chin slightly upwards to study him. She was tall for a woman – perhaps only four or five inches shorter than his six foot plus frame – and slim, and there was a slight stiffness in her bearing, a cold pride and a fragile dignity.

Her eyes traced the planes of his face before returning to stare into the onyx of his eyes. She remained silent, waiting for him to make the next move, hoping desperately that he would kill her.

"If my intention were to kill you, then it would indeed be ill-advised of me to delay. I know what you can do."

"If you have come on behalf of the Dark Lord, then you ought to kill me—before I kill you." He could feel the hatred in her voice, the effort it took for her to maintain even a tenuous grip on her emotions and her power. She was close to breaking.

He smiled mockingly. "I am sorry. While death may well be more welcome to you than life, I cannot show you that mercy."

She closed her eyes and clenched her fists, fighting the despair that threatened to consume her.

"And can you stop me, if I decide to kill us both?"

"I would like to see you try. Are you truly capable of killing a man in cold blood?" His voice was a sibilant hiss that sliced deeply into her.

"I am quite unlike the imbeciles into whose care you were trusted earlier this evening. I do possess knowledge and the power to contain–or control–you if that should prove necessary. You may think that the strength of your magic makes you invincible, but if you test me, your limits will become apparent."

"Why are you playing with me?" She clenched her fists until her nails left bloody crescents on the palms of her hands.

He laughed dryly, though well aware of the imprudence of provoking her. He had always danced with death; now, he stood beside her at the boundary of sanity and utter madness.

"Perhaps because I am as mad as you. I know enough of you and your situation to understand that the next few hours will determine the course of your life and of this war. I have come to offer you a choice."

"I choose to die."

"I am not surprised. That is exactly what I would have expected from a creature as selfish as you seem to be."

"How dare you!" Her voice was little more than a whisper. "You could not possibly understand…"

"I understand well enough that you find yourself living in a nightmare. You cannot face the road before you; you cannot face the consequences of your actions. You are a coward."

Watching her trembling form, he felt a stab of pity for her. Although she had the form of a child, her eyes were old and worn with suffering. He fought the back the memory of that day in Dumbledore's office, that day when his desperate wish for release was twisted into a martyrdom of fourteen years. Now, he was to play the role of the puppeteer.

"Do you think you are the only one who has suffered? The only one ravaged by guilt and grief? Your madness blinds you to the fact that your escape will be the death knell of innocents. You are the Star; you cannot escape your fates."

His fury had steadied her spirits. Though unwilling to reveal her own ignorance, she ventured, "I know nothing."

He was taken aback. "Surely you know what you are."

"I know that my entire life has been a lie."

"You are the renegade--the weapon with the power to shift the balance of power in the wizarding world."

"And what are you?

"I am a traitor to the light and to the darkness. I have come to offer you death and a new beginning. The world will believe that you died in the explosion that destroyed your home, through the carelessness of a Death Eater of particularly scintillating stupidity—who would be killed slowly and painfully if he were not already dead."

"By my hand."

"By your intention?"

She was silent. He understood.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 2: Dumbledore's Office

"But why should I be stuck babysitting her?" he said, his eyes flashing dangerously.

"You know as well as I do, Severus – you are the only one who can." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled maddeningly.

"Couldn't Minerva…or Filius…or even Lupin… You know as well as I do Dumbledore: I have neither the time nor the patience to deal with the moods of a distraught, unbalanced child." He spat the word "child" as if it burned his tongue.

"As you know, Minerva, Filius, and Lupin all have their own tasks to accomplish. And I think you will find that this young lady is hardly one of your dunderheads."

He threw his hands up in the air as he glared at the older man. "And what do you think I'm doing at the moment? Twiddling my thumbs. The Dark Lord …"

"Tom – call him Tom" Dumbledore interjected.

"Tom then … is liable to summon me at any minute. He expects…"

"I know Severus. In many ways, your burden is heavier than that of each and every one of us. I do not mean to belittle the work you are doing or the burdens you bear – I truly hate to ask anything else of you, my dear boy…"

Severus grimaced slightly at the Headmaster's endearment.

"… but you are the only one who—"

"Who can try to keep her from blowing herself up and the whole castle with her?"

Dumbledore stirred the pevensieve, and Severus watched as his memories rose to the surface in swift procession before vanishing into its rippling silver depths. The crater where the cottage had been, glowing with magical energy. Following the trail that she, unwittingly, had left behind her. That small, solitary figure sitting alone, under the stars, her arms wrapped around her knees. Slinking through the darkness towards her. Surprised, despite himself, when she looked up, directly at him, and said, in that dead voice of hers, "What are you waiting for?"

"She may be silly, but she is hardly a child." The Headmaster gently swirled the Pevensieve between his gnarled hands, and the image of her face rose to the surface. Her lips tight, as if she were trying to stifle a sob or a shriek. Her eyes — a soft honey brown — were glassy, utterly empty. The moonlight made her features painfully distinct. A marble corpse.

Exhausted, Severus stared, almost hypnotized by the mute grief of her features and her face. Bitterly, he said, "As always, Headmaster, you are right. She is no more a child than I was at her age."

"You understand her worth to us, to the cause," the Headmaster said, his blue eyes hardening into chips of sapphire. "That is why you brought her here. You know what they would do to her. You know what she would become. She is a weapon, Severus. A weapon that may tip the balance of the war in our favor if used wisely. You are the only one with the abilities necessary to utilize this opportunity. You have the power necessary to contain her outbursts. Your knowledge of magic is virtually unparalleled. Train her. Teach her everything you can. And you must protect her at any cost."

He watched the Headmaster's face. The eccentricity, the grandfatherly dottiness, had vanished. His face was that of a commander, a general. The war was a chess game. Two kings – one white, one black – moving pieces around on a chessboard. Willing to make any sacrifice, pay any price for the 'greater good.' He, of all people, understood this man, who was to him teacher, savior, master, enemy, and friend.

But deep within his heart, he felt that he was betraying her. He ought to have killed her to spare her from the life she would lead. No. This was not a war between Light and Darkness, Good and Evil. It was war. No matter who won, the cost would be great. The losers would forfeit their lives to whatever King emerged, victorious, from this suffering.

Hardening his heart, he looked up at the Headmaster. "I will train her. I will do as you wish."

"You always have."

"Yes."

"Good night."

Thus dismissed, Severus Snape swept out of the Headmaster's office. Past the table of delicate, worthless, silver instruments. Past the portraits of former Headmasters and Headmistresses, that gazed down at him, unblinking. Past Fawkes, who trilled softly at him, watching with beady eyes too much like the Headmaster's for comfort. He climbed down the winding spiral staircase, sneered at the gargoyles guarding the door, and glided down the empty corridors.

Damn prophesy. Damn the war. He tried to ignore the almost overwhelming sense of guilt that shadowed him. He had just damned that girl to the same servitude that had shadowed his life. Scowling malevolently at a suit of armor, he sought to escape the sense of responsibility he felt for her. He had found her, he had saved her, he had brought her, an unsuspecting fly, here, to the center of the spider's web. Of all times for his conscience to show its face!

By the time he had returned to his chambers, his headache was almost unbearable, but he resisted the urge to down another headache potion. It wouldn't work anyway. Summoning a Calming Draught and Dreamless sleep from his stock, he strode down the hallway towards the reason for his headache.

The door to her room was slightly ajar, but he knocked – twice – before he heard her voice: "You may enter." The slight formality of her words was accentuated by the distance of her tone – not snobbery but aloofness.

Her voice was strange. It had a soft, almost lilting quality—an accent of sorts but not one he could recognize. He pushed the door open and slowly entered, hoping not to startle her. She sat on the sill of the open window, in the far corner of the room. Her back was to him, but he could sense the stiffness in her posture. She gazed out the window, at the horizon, watching as the rising sun set distant clouds alight.

She felt no inclination to speak to him just yet. While she had trusted enough to follow him away from that desolate hillside, she remained wary of him. If he came any closer to her, she was unsure if she could prevent herself from, like a frightened bird, taking flight out the open window. It was already tempting enough just to let herself fall.

She imagined the flight: feeling the cool morning wind whirl around her, as she fell. A moment of bliss, and then it would all be over. The dawn of a new day – the first she in which she would bear the burden of their deaths and her guilt – seemed a hideous, twisted thing to her eyes. The sun should not rise today. The wind should not blow so gently, so sweetly. The surface of the lake should not be tranquil but torn up by mighty currents. She should not be sitting here, without them. With nothing to show for what she had done. With no tears on her cheeks. With only a paralyzing stiffness, an emptiness in her heart.

At last, he spoke, "I've just returned from the Headmaster's office. He would like to see you later today. I would recommend that you get a couple hours of sleep. I've brought you two potions that will help you."

Mutely, she shook her head. "Thank you, but I'm not tired." She did not look at him, and he swept out of the room. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the cool pane of the window.

'She.' I thought. 'She is not me. I am gone, but she must remain. I am not that strong. Not yet.'


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: The Headmaster

When he knocked briskly on her door in the morning, there was no response. He tried again, suppressing a hint of unease. Yes, her grief was raw, but surely, she would not do something desperate.

Now banging on the door, he tried the doorknob, only to find it locked. He scowled at the lock, and it gave way with a faint pop. He burst into the room to find her just emerging from the bathroom, dripping wet, a towel wrapped around her.

Averting his eyes, he spat, "Are you deaf or dumb, girl? I've been calling you for ten minutes. I am to present you to Dumbledore."

Instead of cowering under his sneer, she smiled, a little sarcastically. "So sorry." The sweetness of her voice was belied by the coldness of her smile. "If this appointment is urgent enough for you to come bursting into my room, then shall I accompany you in my present state of dress?"

He chuckled mirthlessly. "If you choose to cavort naked about the castle, I am sure that the Headmaster for one would not stop you."

She grimaced a little, and, gathering the towel more firmly about her, intoned with affected dignity, "I will grace you and the headmaster with my presence once I am adequately attired."

"Very well then. I will be waiting."

Within minutes, she emerged, garbed in the plain black robes that the house elves had provided for her. Her hair was still wet, dripping down her back.

He raised an eyebrow mockingly. "If you are trying to resemble a drowned cat, you have certainly achieved the effect. The look rather becomes you."

She smiled without showing her teeth. "I'm flattered. Shall we go?"

"Wait a moment." Without any perceptible motion on his part, his wand was in his hand. She flinched when he pointed the wand at her head.

"Easy," he whispered. She felt a warmth on her scalp that moved down her neck and onto her back. When she reached up to touch her hair, it was dry and fell in soft waves down her back.

"Thank you."

"Come," he muttered gruffly and swept away.

He strode down the hall in his customary swooping stride, which usually left hapless students trailing behind him, half-running in their haste to keep up. However, he noticed with some displeasure, that she seemed to be having no trouble. Her long legs pumped effortlessly in time with his, and when he lengthened his stride, she did the same. He felt a grudging admiration for her stubborn pride.

But as she stepped into the Headmaster's office, he noticed a change come over her demeanor. Where before she had carried herself with confidence and self-possession, now, she seemed to shrink into herself. Her shoulders drooped slightly, her stride faltered a little, and her face softened almost imperceptibly. When the Headmaster advanced, beaming as usual, to greet her, she shook his hand with a sort of timid politeness and deference that endeared her to him almost instantly. Then, at his invitation, she gracefully took a seat across from him, crossed her ankles, and folded her hands in her lab. Her eyes were downcast, studying the pitted surface of the table in front of her, and a curtain of hair concealed her face from view.

Severus Snape watched with grudging respect. He, of all people, knew the power of pretending. Seeing her metamorphose from the icily confident, dangerous woman who had matched his stride through the halls to the shy, polite schoolgirl, who quietly grieved for her family.

"I'm so sorry, my dear, to hear about your loss. Such a tragedy. Even at my age, it still shocks me to hear the atrocities that Tom's servants commit, simply appalling!" Dumbledore's voice contained the appropriate mixture of sympathy and outrage.

"Thank you, sir," she said quietly, without looking up to meet his eyes.

"It is so fortunate that Severus here was able to rescue in time," he continued.

"Yes, I am very grateful to him. I owe him my life." Severus alone caught the double meaning behind her words, which she voiced for his benefit. He was the reason she was not dead. He had prevented her from escaping; he had forced her to live a life that she wanted to escape.

"Would you like a lemon drop, child?"

"No, but thank you." From where he stood in the corner, Severus could just see her face. He glimpsed the fleeting pain that disappeared before the old man could notice it.

"Now child," Dumbledore said gently, "why don't you tell me a bit about yourself?"

"I was born – in the United States – in 1978. After my father's death, we travelled for a while. England is the seventh country in which I have lived in the past twelve years." She was unwilling to tell him anything that he could potentially use against her; she couldn't trust him – she couldn't really trust either of them.

"Did you ever notice anything different – about yourself, about your mother?"

She stiffened almost imperceptibly, but replied, "No. All of this is so unexpected." She was lying, Snape observed. She had noticed something; she had suspected.

"I know that you may be still in shock after the events of last night, but I am leaving today on a mission, an important, dangerous mission on which the outcome of the war may depend." Severus almost snorted. "All of the members of the Order of the Phoenix also have their own tasks to complete."

"I don't want to be a burden to anyone," she whispered, her eyes widening slightly. "I can look after myself."

"Well, fortunately, Severus will be remaining at Hogwarts this summer to conduct research. Although he may be called away to Lord Voldemort's side, he will be present enough to begin your instruction in magic."

"I would love to learn anything that he is willing to teach me, but I would hate to interfere with his work. Has he agreed to this?"

"Severus?" the Headmaster prompted.

Stepping out of the shadows, he said, allowing a subtly mocking undertone to color his voice, "As I am, first and foremost, a teacher, it would be my pleasure to instruct you."

Pleasantries, platitudes, and they departed, after she had once again refused a lemon drop. They descended the stairs and emerged into the corridor again.

"You're quite the little actress, aren't you?"

She did not meet his eyes. "I have no idea what you mean, sir."

He chuckled dryly. "If you intend to play games with me, little girl, you'll have to do better than that."

Now, she looked up at him, shedding her mask with the ease of practice. Her features hardened with rage. "I am not a child. I will have no respect for you if you patronize me, as the _esteemed_ Headmaster did."

"I have no intention of patronizing you. I merely speak from a perspective of seniority of age, experience, and knowledge."

"Your superiority of age and experience I will admit, but, like my lack of knowledge of the wizarding world, these factors are beyond my control. You do have seniority, but I dare you to claim superiority."

"I have no intention of doing so, save in certain arenas. I trust you shall not challenge my mastery of deception and manipulation. If I were not your superior in this, I would be dead."

They had reached the doors to his chamber. He informed her, "For now, until your magic is more stable, you will remain within my wards. You are confined to these chambers until I judge you capable of controlling yourself. Your lessons will begin shortly."

"I am not your prisoner."

"You should know by now that we all are prisoners."


End file.
